You are my gentle lion.
Proud and kind and loyal
And fierce to those who cause hurt.

You are a freak
The one they see in public
But those who love you see beauty

You are a statue
Unmoving in your resolve
Strong when I am weak.

You are my torturer
That drags me, ******, crying and wounded
To the peace and light

You are the weary soldier
Still strong, still fighting
But torn up from past battles.

You are the holy one
Who will guide me to the life I belong to.

See this here?
This is my heart.
It's broken, bruised and scared.
But you can have it.

See this part?
That bit right there?
It's warm, and safe and loving.
And it will always be yours.

This time of year is yours.
I can't help but to think of you,
with a full heart and wet eyes.
I miss you more than you could know.
I wonder if you know,
That you are my every thought,
And every pain i feel is through missing you.

Thoughts are scurrying, scattered, fleeing, like writhing little rodents. I try to calm them, appease them, bribe them but they won't rest. They keep on going and going and going into frantic dismay. Revolt! Depression. I'm tired all the time, from the fighting and the effort. I wish for peace. Not for the abyss but for the calm of life without concern.
For a moment one of the gems I cherish falls into my hand. I hold it close to my heart and it warms me through. The frost around the edges stings that little bit less. The day is minutely less scary, in their presence, when I'm not alone and their sturdy beauty encapsulates my focus. The thoughts align like the rigid carbon I imagine them to be made from. One day the gem will shatter. One day it will be dust between my fingers, or lost, misplaced or out of reach. I will push that day away in desperate hope that it will not return.
But it will. It does. And I start again.